There Is No Spoon
by monicawoe
Summary: written for the prompt: "Season 7, post The Mentalists. Um, what was up with Sam's bent spoon? No, really. Who did that? Subconscious telekinesis is all it takes to turn hallucination into reality."


"He broke my spoon." Sam muttered, annoyed.

_"No, he didn't."_ Lucifer said, leaning over the railing next to their table. _"You did."_

Sam ignored him.

* * *

><p>Later, Sam was facing down Jimmy, who said, "Margaret's happy to kill for me. She likes the leash."<p>

"You're sick." Sam answered.

"You know what else I am? A real psychic, you dick-bag." Jimmy snarled.

From behind him, Lucifer scoffed and said, _"Oh please."_

Jimmy raised his hand, and Sam's gun flew to him.

_"Come on, Sam. Show him how it's done."_Lucifer goaded him.

_'What the hell are you talking about?' _Sam thought, and then chided himself for letting himself get sucked into yet another argument with his hallucination. "Where are the rest of the bones?" Sam asked Jimmy. "These people don't deserve to die."

"Oh, come on! Are you kidding me? I live in squalor 'cause I can't put on a show like them?" Jimmy yelled.

"Don't do this." Sam noticed Jimmy shifting himself in front of the doorway in the back. "They're in the bedroom, aren't they?"

"No." Jimmy said and fired his gun.

Sam lifted his hand - a reflex, nothing more - and the bullet veered off course.

"You're not getting in there." Jimmy said, frightened.

Sam took a deep breath, and his gun flew back into his hand. He shot Jimmy in the heart.

Jimmy fell to the floor, dead, his eyes wide open in shock.

* * *

><p>When they checked into a motel room together the next day (for the first time in nearly two weeks), Sam went right into the bathroom to brush his teeth. They'd eaten at an Italian restaurant for lunch, and Sam couldn't get rid of the taste of garlic bread. He rinsed his mouth, and when he stood back up, he saw Lucifer in the mirror. He was leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his chest.<p>

_"So, when are you gonna tell Dean?"_

"Tell Dean what?" Sam muttered.

_"That you can move things with your mind."_

"Never, because that's not what happened. I'm just seeing things. I see things all the time."

_"That doesn't mean they aren't real."_

"You're not real."

Lucifer chuckled and smiled at Sam fondly, _"Okay, let's go with that."_ Lucifer pointed at the naked lightbulb hanging from the bathroom ceiling and whispered, _"Bang."_

The lightbulb exploded.

_"So. If I'm not real...who did that?"_

"Sam?" Dean called from the main room, "You okay in there?"

Sam took a shaky breath, and left the bathroom.

* * *

><p>It wasn't that Sam didn't want to tell Dean. Well it <em>was<em> , but that wasn't the only reason. Sam didn't want it to be true. He hadn't touched demon blood in - a long, _long_time, and that's where this power belonged - with all the others, buried and forgotten.

So when they were fighting the two yetis, and Sam held his hands up (to shield his face so the female wouldn't slice his neck open), he was horrified to see the yeti propelled back so hard it flew over the cliff. He heard it roar in rage and land down below with a sickening thump.

He turned to Dean slowly, dreading the look on his brother's face, but Dean was busy being pinned under the weight of the male yeti. Dean had stabbed it, and sliced it's chest open, but the yeti had fallen on top of him, and its considerable weight was too much for Dean to move by himself.

Sam walked over to Dean on shaky legs, and tried to roll the yeti off of him. It moved a centimeter at most. He pushed again, and used every ounce of strength at his disposal (including the bit he kept in his brain). The yeti spun off of Dean and rolled off into the woods, leaving blood and entrails in its wake.

Dean blinked up at Sam in confusion and said, "Thanks." He clenched his eyes shut and fell back against the ground, groaning, "Dude...I _reek_.

* * *

><p>While Dean took his hour-long shower that night, Sam rehearsed what he was going to say.<p>

_'So, you know how I moved that cabinet at Max Miller's years ago (back before the blood-drinking), well - turns out I can do that again.'_

No matter how he phrased it in his head, all he could see was Dean's expression faltering, turning into that look of betrayal and fear he'd seen for far too long.

Dean came out of the shower, and Sam decided to wait just a little longer.

They shared pizza and had beer to celebrate the successful hunt. Dean got up to get another bottle, and knocked the table as he stood up.

Without thinking Sam stopped the bottle from shattering on the floor. It hung, suspended in midair.

Dean stared at it, and said, "Huh."

Sam swallowed, and reached down to grab the bottle. He placed it back on the table, and stared at it.

Dean got two new bottles of beer and put them down on the table. He picked up the empty one Sam had saved and turned it around slowly. "No strings."

Sam shook his head. "No."

"Were you gonna tell me?"

"Yes. I just - " he sighed and looked down at his hands, "I was afraid you were gonna think..."

"I've known since Lily Dale."

"Since - but how?"

"When we left there. You fell asleep in the car."

"Okay..."

"You were deep asleep, and I told you I was glad you came back." Dean's mouth curved up into a half-smile, "You snored, but you looked like you were smilin' "

Sam stared at him.

"Anyway, I asked you where you wanted to go next, and you didn't say anything." Dean took a sip of his beer, "But that damn map you always pull out when we're looking for somewhere to go - it _floated_out of your bag and started unfolding itself."

Sam gulped.

"I almost crashed the car."

"Dean, I'm -"

"It's okay Sammy. I don't think you're a freak. Well - no more than usual."

Sam shook his head, "I don't know why it's back. I thought - I thought I was just seeing things." He took a slow sip from his beer, and his hand shook only slightly.

"I don't care that it's back. I'm just glad _you're_ back." Dean stood up, plopped down on his bed and turned on the tv.


End file.
